


Strange and Familiar

by fantastik_obskurials



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Mental Health Issues, Not Canon Compliant - Movie 2: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald, Post-Canon, Recovery, edging towards fluff and happiness, lots of tea-drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 10:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15661812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantastik_obskurials/pseuds/fantastik_obskurials
Summary: Credence is learning to live independently and finding ways of coping. Along the way he finds more than just a means to survive.





	Strange and Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> The premise here is that Credence has been found alive and has been set up with an apartment with a plan for eventually integrating him into the magical world. He is undergoing treatment with a healer before learning magic.

Leaving the house is a little like preparing for battle. There’s a shocking number of decisions involved in going somewhere and doing something. So many details to consider if you don’t want to end up standing on a corner somewhere, mind a blank whirl, unable to take a step in any direction or make a sound...

For the first few weeks (seven), those decisions were beyond him. For Credence, getting used to the space in his apartment, to waking up independent and adrift, took every scrap of energy and will. He didn’t have to decorate or buy anything; the apartment was furnished and he knew Queenie had added her own homely touches before he ever saw the place. Clothes had appeared in the wardrobe just as food had appeared in the fridge and cupboards (and continued to appear weekly). The clothes fitted, better than anything he’d had before, but he found himself wearing the same pants and jumper over and over.

There were Events that stood out in the week. On Mondays and Wednesdays at 3pm Tina and Queenie would arrive to take him to the mind healer. Non-negotiable, for all that they had both sat in complete silence for the first two weeks. After twenty minutes of the same in week three he had finally burst out, “This is ridiculous!” The man across from him with the tidy hair and crinkled grey eyes had merely quirked a smile and agreed. He then invited Credence up to the roof garden and started showing him some magical plants. It turned out it was much easier to talk with hands moving in the soil, away from straight-backed chairs and constant eye contact. 

Queenie always took him for lunch at Jacob’s bakery on Fridays, and he had dinner with the Goldsteins again on Saturday evening. Queenie had taught him how to make tea - the different flavours and how long to steep the leaves, which types needed milk and which were best left alone. The pot was a strange thing, etched with willow branches that swayed and twisted in an unseen breeze. Some of the cups didn’t have handles. When he’d wondered how she knew all these things she told him stories of a neighbour they’d known when they were girls who came from Japan. 

Though he’d heard the name before, seen enough people on the streets who looked different enough from him, the next day he found himself looking for the name on the little globe that sat on his bookcase. He spent a long time just looking at the distance between New York and Japan. When he came back from the mind healer’s on Monday he found two books on the coffee table:  _The Wizarding Guide to the Marvels of Japan_  and  _The Japanese Art of Tea-Making_. Making tea after dinner became Credence’s job. 

In week five he asked Queenie if she could find an old set for his apartment. She took him out early on Thursday morning, between the morning rush and the lunchtime crowds, to a hidden street that appeared at a few whispered words. The fourth shop down was filled to the rafters with every kind of tea imaginable, stacks and stacks of pungent leaves. There were pots of metal, porcelain and glass in a myriad of shapes and patterns. He left finally with a taster box and a tea set that first appeared plain white until it was filled with water and a little plant bloomed and grew, twisting into the form of a tiny dragon that puffed smoke when the tea was ready. Credence decided to call him Thomas, and Thomas never failed to make him smile.

In week six Newt had arrived back and came to visit with a creeping green plant in a shockingly blue pot. They had to gently disentangle the fronds from where they clung to Newt’s hair in order to pass the plant over, but they seemed quite excited to explore Credence’s fingers instead. Credence made tea and placed the plant, which he rather thought he would name Delilah, in a sunny spot on the kitchen window. She waved her fronds about happily. Newt was delighted with the tea, well, mostly by the little dragon on the pot, and approved wholeheartedly of the names Thomas and Delilah. 

Credence’s weekly Events remained the same, and he found himself settling into them with a little more warmth each time. Delilah waved to him in the morning as he cooed and watered her before making breakfast. He had tea (of different kinds) three times a day: once at breakfast, once in the afternoon, and once before bed (the kinds with milk and sugar tended to go best at bedtime). Sometimes, when he felt that churning chasm in his chest, when his hands trembled and shook and his skin began to feel flimsy, like it didn’t belong to him, he made other tea. Strong-smelling, filled with herbs and sweet vanilla, he let the scent break through the fog. Sometimes he showered as well, let the warm - warm! - water flow over his hair and face and down his back until his body felt like his again. Thomas always seemed to give an extra tumble or wiggle those times. It was a work in progress, learning what helped.

Newt stayed around, often joining them on Saturday for dinner, but he never made his own Event with Credence. Instead he seemed to pop up randomly, always with something new and exciting to show him. But Newt was quiet too, even though he talked a lot, never raised his voice or held a gaze for very long. For all his life seemed like a wild adventure, he listened closely to Credence when he explained the tea-making, his smile warm and wide. One day he brought a little radio into the kitchen and when Credence returned from the pantry he found Newt dancing and waving his hands along to the music at an enthusiastic Delilah. Newt didn’t stop when he saw him and Credence felt the warm surety of having a new friend. 

The first letter from Mr Graves -  _Percival_ , said the letter - arrived on Tuesday in Credence’s tenth week of living in the apartment. He drank cup after cup of tea, sitting at his kitchen table, trying to sort out in his head that this letter was from a stranger. Then he cleaned the apartment. And had some more tea. 

Newt found him back at the kitchen table. The parchment was now quite crinkled. Credence was torn between abject mortification and begging for help writing a reply. In the end he did neither.

“I think Thomas might be a bit blown out,” he murmured.

Newt laughed softly. “He might, at that. Letters are bloody awkward things aren’t they? Takes me ages and I either end up rambling or saying nothing at all really. There aren’t a lot of people who write me often. Say, do you even have a quill Credence?”

Credence shook his head. “I’ve never used one, seems a bit strange.”

“Well sometimes strange is as good as familiar. Tell you what, let’s go get some quills and parchment. It’ll be writing practice - I bet by the time you have it, you’ll have something to say at least. Or you’ll just say something to see the back of writing.” His lips curled in a little smile that reminded Credence of when some of the orphans played pranks on one another.

“It’s the afternoon. It’ll be busy. Busier.”

Newt nodded. “Do you have clothes that feel nicer than others?”

Credence frowned. “Um…I like the black jumper, it’s soft and the neck isn’t too high…” It came out like a question.

“Go put that on then. I like having my scarf nearby, just in case. It’s better to be comfortable and lots of clothes are awful. I can cast a little charm so that no one bumps us for now.”

No one did bump into them, though the noise on the street made him clench his teeth. The writing shop was quiet however, and Credence found that parchment felt so much nicer than paper. When they got back Newt stayed and showed him how to hold the quill. They sat together at the kitchen table, Newt with his papers and notes and Credence with his new writing collection. And his letter. Newt simply left him to it and eventually he found himself so tired, so done with the worries and thoughts and shaking hands that he simply wrote whatever came into his head.

  


_Dear Mr Percival,_

_Thank you for your letter. I was not sure how to feel about your apology because I know that we have never actually met. Weeks ago I would have been angry. Now I am not sure what I am._

_I am writing this with a new quill that Mr Scamander helped me buy. It’s very strange getting used to using one, so I do apologise for my writing…_

  


When his hand cramped he stopped and folded the letter carefully. Newt had agreed to owl the letter for him and the man would reply or he would not. Either way, Credence could go over it all with the mind healer tomorrow, and he would plant herbs and return home as the owner of a proper wizarding quill. Maybe he could have his own owl someday, if Delilah didn’t mind. Once the mind healer approved him to start learning magic he might be able to learn that charm of Newt’s, though Newt had said there were other non-magic ways of making going outside easier. It had surprised him that someone like Newt would ever need such things. But then, maybe lots of people did.

He received a reply at the end of the week. The envelope was stiff and textured and sealed with wax and he spent several minutes running his fingers over the changing textures.

  


_Dear Credence,_

_I admit that part of me did not expect a reply, though I am pleased to have received one._

_Stranger though I am, I do not find your words strange. I confess I now find it a challenge like never before to leave my own door…_

  


For so long he had felt alone. Such a strange thing then, to find that everywhere there were others who felt things just as he did. Who knew what it took to venture outside, to feel fear and anger and loss and continue to live. He thought that he would write to Percival again and ask if he drank tea. And he would go back to the tea shop and the writing shop. And who knew what other things there were that he could see and touch and would become familiar. Newt and Queenie and Tina would know, and Jacob too, he would know about the non-magical places that might be just as interesting. He would ask them then, and make a list.

He would prepare. Things were waiting, and he found he didn’t want them to wait too long.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and questions welcome! Come find me on tumblr @fantastikobskurials


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